


Light My Candle

by TheSadisticMunchkin



Series: NATM Rent AU for Steph [2]
Category: Night at the Museum (Movies), Rent - Larson
Genre: Ahkmenrah is a stripper, Alternate Universe - RENT, Angst and Humor, Attempted Seduction, Drug Addiction, HIV/AIDS, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, NATM Secret Santa Gift 2015, Past Drug Addiction, Song Lyrics, enough said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSadisticMunchkin/pseuds/TheSadisticMunchkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reminds him too much of him when he was a teenager and that's what triggers the red light of 'you shouldn't talk to this person ever again.' </p><p>Yet he possesses an enticing pull that Larry can't help but be addicted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light My Candle

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone give it up for America's favorite Egyptian stripper:
> 
> AHKMENRAH
> 
> (Larry blushes in the background)

Larry doesn’t like being left alone for long periods of time.

 

            He acts aloof and cold a lot of the time but in reality being left alone is the most dreadful thing. When he’s alone, his only companions are his thoughts. When he’s alone, he could only talk to himself of times glorious that he longs for once more. He wants another taste of that glory. He wants to feel the blinding lights on his face as he croons out a rock ballad. He wants to smell the pungent scent of the bars and empty parking lots filled with sweaty bodies he used to play for.

 

            He wishes to be worshipped again.

 

            Yet he knows those days are over. He can’t really go back to it no matter how hard he tries. Now he only wants to write one more song before he eventually dies. He hates thinking of death so casually but it’s true. When one is HIV/AIDS positive, you don’t think about life as much anymore. Well, he’s one of those people who have given up at least. Now to write that song, that’s what he’s currently stumped at.

 

            He’s got Musetta’s Waltz stuck in his head for months.

 

            He could sense his hands start to shake and he places his guitar on the floor before he could drop it. He hates this. He hates seeing his son look at him like he’s a failure. He hates not being able to pay the rent. He hates himself a lot of the time too but that’s a given, is it not? He snorts at how his thoughts are forming. So sad on Christmas Eve. He should try smiling more than once a day, maybe that will help.

 

            _Knock knock knock_

 

What the fuck is that?

 

            _Knock knock knock_

 

Great. Now he has to stand up. Maybe Nicky forgot his keys again. The kid always forgets his keys. At least it didn’t take him five hours to realize it. Still, that was a really amusing show when he tried to climb into the window. His son has about as much athletic prowess as him. His days in hockey never really taught him much. He walks over to the door and slides it open. Without looking to see who it is, he lets out a small laugh. “Did you forget your keys again?”

 

            “Got a light, stranger?”

 

            This isn’t Nicky. Nicky didn’t wear eyeliner that made him question if he was a girl or a guy. Nicky didn’t wear short skirts or baggy sequined sweaters. He has a bunch of thoughts and sentences running through his mind but all he could manage to say are “I know you…” He looks into this kid’s eyes and he senses danger. He smells of danger, a faint scent of an all too familiar drug that brings him on a ready defensive state of mind.

 

            “You’re shivering.” It’s true. He’s shaking like a lamb on a cold night.

 

            “It’s nothing. They turned off my heat.” _They_ meaning their tenant. He didn’t seem too fazed by it as he casually steps into Larry’s apartment with the grace of a cat. He watches almost in slow motion as he walks in and he stops himself from staring before anything could get out of his control. That’s something he’s good at doing, being in control. He can control himself now. He hasn’t had a relapse in 3 years. He can do this.

 

            “I’m just a little weak on my feet.” He answers his unvoiced question as he turns around. One sleeve of his sweater slides down his shoulder at that and Larry gulps. “Would you light my candle?” Larry had to think about that question for a solid two seconds before he realized the entire room is only lit by the moonlight. Right. Brownout, of course. How could he forget that? He hasn’t paid the rent in weeks.

 

            “What are you staring at?” _Shit._ He got caught. He quickly grabs the spare box of matches on the table and strikes one of them against the rough section of the box. With the added light, Larry catches a glimpse of this boy’s eyes. They are a shade he can’t quite place. Green? Light blue? Gray? There isn’t enough light for him to decipher it. They are beautiful, that’s all the words he has to describe them.

 

            “Nothing.” He glances up a bit after he sets the wicker aflame and shakes the match out. “Your hair in the moonlight.” His curly hair sat atop his head, the moonlight making it look like a halo. "You look familiar.” He still can’t quite place where he saw this guy last. He gives him an almost devilish grin, stumbling a bit as he tries to walk away. “C-Can you make it?” He shrugs.

 

            “Just haven’t eaten much today. At least the room stopped spinning.” He does a little twirl in a poor excuse of an example and he tries not to laugh. “Anyway, what?” Shit. Why does he keep getting caught staring? He should just stop staring at all. He _can’t_ stop staring. He reminds him too much of him when he was a teenager and that’s what triggers the red light of ‘you shouldn’t talk to this person ever again.’ Yet he possesses an enticing pull that Larry can’t help but be addicted to.

 

            “Nothing. Your smile reminded me of--”

 

            “I always remind people of--” He pauses. “Who is she?”

 

            “She died. Her name was Erica.”

 

            “It’s out again!” _For fuck’s sake._ He definitely saw him blow that candle out himself. There isn’t any trace of wind or breeze in his apartment but he decides to play his little game. He knows this all too well. He knows how to play his cards right. “Sorry ‘bout your friend.” He says these little clipped phrases like they are a routine. He’s done this before and it’s keeping him on high alert. “Would you light my candle?” He’s starting to think this repeated question has a double meaning.

 

            He’s not buying it.

 

            Then the wax started dripping and he is now trying _so_ hard not to give in to his little scheme. Not today, not here, not ever, not anywhere. He’s had enough heartbreak. He has enough baggage. “Goodnight.” He didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want to give up. He’s doing so well, he can’t stop now. The still unnamed stranger gives him a little pout and starts walking away. Larry can finally breathe.

 

            Then he knocks again and he prays to whatever god is watching, asking them why he deserves this. (It’s because he’s been sinning and he knows that too well. But god fucking damn it, it’s Christmas.)

 

            “It blew out again?” What other reason does he have for knocking on the opened door?

 

            “No… I think that I dropped my stash.” _Fucking knew it._

 

He takes another good, long look at the guy and he swears he’s seen him before. He hates not remembering. “I know I’ve seen you out and about when I used to go out. Your candle’s out.” He gestures to the unlit candle in the young man’s hands but he ignores him for once and gets down on his knees to search the floor. The hand wrapped around the candle is shaking as he scans the floor for the little baggie.

 

            His ass is up in the air now, teasing him and he continues to pray.

 

            _Why am I here? Why now?_

 

“You’re staring again.” _Well no shit! You’re being the biggest tease on 14th street!_

 

“You look familiar.” Maybe if he keeps asking this, he’ll forget about trying to seduce him. He’s starting to sweat because of this. It seems that he’s not the only one sweating in a chilly winter evening.

 

            “Like your dead girlfriend?” _Ouch._

 

“Only when you smile but I swear I’ve seen you somewhere else.” It’s true. His smile is like Erica’s before the light started dying out of her eyes. His own eyes hold the same light of adventure and longing for escape. _Danger._ His mind whispers but soon enough it becomes something akin to white noise.

 

            “Do you go to the _Naughty History Club_? That’s where I work. I dance”

 

            Suddenly flashes of a sexy Egyptian pharaoh flit through his mind and he remembers now. How could he forget such an unforgettable face? He saw him during the peak of his rock career. The times when he was more than his coveted search for glory. He needed to let off a little steam and have some fun so he went to the _Natural History Club._ Ironically, it made more money than the actual Natural History Museum.

 

            “Yes! They used to tie you up.”

 

            A beat of silence passes by and the boy rolls his eyes. “It’s a living.”

 

            “I didn’t recognize you without the bandages.”

 

            “Won’t you light the candle?” There it is again. He’s not the only one doing repeated sentences to get their point across. He lights his candle anyway because what else can he do?

 

            “Why don’t you forget that stuff? You look like you’re sixteen!”

 

            “I’m twenty!” _Well that certainly makes things slightly less creepy._ “But I’m old for my age. I was born to be bad.”

 

            “I once was born to be bad.” Maybe a harsh, cold reality could snap him out of his sexcapade. “I used to shiver like that.” He says he’s got no heat. “I used to sweat.” He says he’s got a cold. How convincing. “Uh huh. I used to be a junkie.” That’s the sentence that got him to snap a little bit.

 

            “Well now and then I like to… feel good.” He says it first at a loud volume but soon shrinks into himself as he remembers what he was looking for. Larry’s eye catches the little baggie underneath the couch and he quickly hides it in his back pocket. He doesn’t want another teenager turning into someone like him. _Someone_ in this part of town has to turn out good. He doesn’t know why he thinks an exotic dancer would be that person but he always believed in second chances.

 

            Second chances for everyone else but him.

 

            He pretends it’s a candy wrapper (because that’s convincing, right?) and he gives him a smile. He asks him one more time if he could light his candle but he blows it out the second he steps inches away from his face. “What’d you do to my candle?” He doesn’t sound the slightest bit offended and Larry’s mind tells him to start wrapping this up _now._ Why did he blow the candle out? _What was he thinking?_

 

            He tells him that’s his last match. He tells him thank God for the moon. He didn’t think someone like him would believe in God. Suddenly he’s sitting on the couch with his hand in between this intruder’s own small hands. “C-Cold hands.” He says in an attempt at small talk. _Just tell him to leave now and everything will be over with!_

 

“Yours too. Big, like my father’s.” His eyes lights up in mischief as he pulls Larry to his feet. “Do you want to dance?”

 

            “W-With you?” Why is he stuttering so much?

 

            “No. With my father.” He deadpans and he can at last give him a smile for the tiniest bit of effort he put into that joke.

 

            “I’m Larry.”

 

            “They call me Ahkmenrah.” _Ahkmenrah._ He wants to test the name out with his own voice but the twenty year old practically feels him up until his hand is on his ass. He digs the little baggy out and waves it triumphantly in his face. He gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before skipping out of the apartment, leaving a dumbfounded former rock star in his wake. Larry breathes normally once he doesn’t hear his footsteps anymore.

 

            He’s alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> What are you looking at?
> 
> You enjoyed it, I know you did.


End file.
